


Successor

by lesbomancy



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Korriban, Sith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6078168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbomancy/pseuds/lesbomancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coren'mati goes from apprentice to Master the old fashioned way... by opportunistic accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Successor

“Look at them, all digging where nothing is to be found. Scrounging in tombs long since desecrated for items removed before their ancestor’s planets were colonized..” The graying Sith Pureblood clad in gaudy gold-and-red regalia said as he lowered his binoculars.

The plateau beneath him was high, higher than most points in the Valley of the Dark Lords and riddled with craters and decay. He turned around and gestured to the throngs of slaves, Imperial military and apprentice Sith excavating the area. Nearly the entirety of the plateau barring a small landing pad was filled with equipment and movement, a thick dust kicking up into the air around the workers as they toiled in the hot Korriban sun.

“But here!” he exclaimed. “Here will be the findings of our lifetime, findings which will put the Grenarian name into the annals of Sith culture of a milennia. I will be granted prestige and power from the Dark Council and my meteoric rise will herald in a new era of power for scholars such as I!”

A blue-skinned twi'lek beside him in simple black robes looked at him attentively, her round face nodding up and down. “And not to mention the wealth, my lord.”

Hoarse laughter escaped the Pureblood, the man grasping at the twi'lek with an oppressive amount of force. His jewelry clad, red bony hands dug into her shoulder and his thin lips pulled into a grim sneer. “Wealth for me, mongrel. You will do well to not speak until you are spoken to.”

He whipped his hand away and turned just in time to be greeted with an Imperial Reclamation Service officer standing crisply at attention and with his arm cocked in a salute. “Lord Grenarian, sir! We have found it.”

Grenarian gasped, looking past the officer to see the majority of his workers crowding around a door. His wrist flicked to the side, the man effortlessly tossing the Imperial officer aside and out of his way with the force as his robes billowed behind him, the elderly Lord stalking to the point of interest.

“Out of my way, out of my way!” He snarled, the blue twi'lek following dutifully behind him.

Lord Grenarian pushed past the slaves, Sith and soldiers and nearly giggled as he was greeted with a door bearing the Grenarian family crest.

“Back, all of you!” He ordered before shaking out his robes and clasping his fist before the seal. The hair on one’s neck began to stand on edge, the overwhelming sensation of illness that was the Dark side of the Force becoming ever more present as Lord Grenarian channeled all of his hatred and disgust into connecting with those long dead. “I, of bloodfire and rage command the spirits of the past to witness their lineage’s product! Grant me entry!”

A faint whisper crossed the minds of those Force sensitive, something which was not entirely coherent but loud enough to send a few slaves running off for the landing pad at the far side of the plateau in panic. The door segmented itself into three sections and opened outwards, ages of brittle dirt and caked grit snapping off to expose a deep spiral staircase which led into darkness.

Torches suddenly lit themselves all the way down, an eerie blue fire which bore no heat suddenly popping into every single sconce without fail. Grenarian pulled his head back and cackled, snapping his bony fingers at several officers and the twi'lek.

“Caren'mati, take two slaves and a squad into the tomb before me. ‘Twould not do to have me stain my good tunic on a cursed alchemical creation!” He kept snapping his fingers at the blue woman and she bowed her head silently before gesturing for the officers to follow her. They in kind pushed a pair of mousy slaves forward who were clutching their mining equipment for dear life.

The twi'lek led the way down the ancient metal-and-stone spiral staircase, the group’s footfalls echoing so loud that it nearly hurt. Dark energies and the evil of an era long past lingered in the stale air like an omen of things to come. One of the slaves behind her began to quietly shake and the two Imperials armed with blaster rifles had set their safeties off despite being behind the apprentice Sith woman.

As they reached the bottom of the staircase the view of a grand, triangular tomb greeted them. The room’s sconces lit up with the same ethereal, heatless fire and illuminated the entirety of the chamber. Dust from the excavation had begun to pillow back down, giving the room a reddish hue. It looked entirely undisturbed and covered in dust. Even the faintest footfall sent a small poof of smoke up in it’s wake.

“You,” Caren'mati said while pointing at the braver of the two slaves. “Check for traps. Run around like a fool as fast as you can and.. touch things. If you trigger anything I’ll reel you in, okay?” She flashed an empty smile and the slave took a deep breath.

He was a bulky, strong Iridonian man who looked capable of beating the chamber half to death if his giant fists weren’t electroshackled an exact distance apart. To his credit he did as he was told, doing as he was trained to do and as many other slaves died doing. Not a single pitfall or hidden floor switch, his route ending back near Caren'mati and the others as he panted heavily and held his pickaxe underneath an arm.

The twi'lek woman gave the man a good pat on the bottom as she passed him and pointed towards several sarcophagi. “Sergeant Pillet and Sergeant Gorche I want you both to investigate the intimates with a servant each. Find out how to open them and if there are any more traps attached to them.”

“Yes, my lord!” both said as they jaunted off with their slaves.

Caren'mati furrowed her hairless brow, bottom lip moving as the dark energies of the place crept into her very essence and twisted a knot out of her emotions. She began to breathe heavily, stubby chewed fingernails tapping on the hilt of her lightsaber.

This was the ancient tomb of the Grenarian family, a pureblood line which traced itself back to the very first. They had fallen on hard times, their most recent descendants floundering in politicking and proxy wars in Hutt space. The tomb itself would be Lord Jhut Grenarian’s cry to the Sith community and the legitimizing force in all of his political and financial workings.

And it had seemed to pay off. Ancient writings, treasures locked in boxes and even the remains of the Grenarian family line pre-Hyperspace War were all sealed up in their archaic stone housings like the fossils they truly were. Caren'mati set her eyes at the floor, hand pressing to her chest as the clutches of the Dark Side rooted itself in her, forcing the woman to grit her teeth and bring out the pain and suffering in her past to the forefront.

Being sold by her own parents and brought forward towards a Sith Lord who had a taste for young women and a nearly insatiable appetite. The rage and hate upon his discovering of her force sensitivity which forced him to give her to Korriban resulting in scars both physical and mental which made her throat involuntarily constrict.

The bony fingers of Lord Jhut Grenarian wrapped around Caren'mati’s shoulder as he took his place beside her. “If I were of pitiful birth I too would shrink in the presence of one’s greaters. Do not find shame in being inferior.. it is your people’s.. place.”

His fingers moved to flick at one of her lekku, Caren'mati shrinking away and gritting her teeth as she tried to calm herself from the sudden and sharp pain of the man’s pointy nails scratching at her skin.

“All these years,” Grenarian said as he walked the large, treasure-filled room. “And now I will regain what is rightfully mine.”

Grenarian placed his hand on the center sarcophagus, caressing it’s ancient stonework and writings. “Our purity will never be questioned so long as-..”

“So long as no one catches on to you and takes credit!” A new voice announced. A pale-skinned human male who swaggered his way into the room and pat Caren'mati as if she did not exist.

“Nirun!” Grenarian hissed, drawing his lightsaber. He looked to the slaves and Imperial soldiers. “Leave us! Now!”

With a nod an a statement of affirmation the soldiers and slaves scurried away back up the spiral staircase, mostly glad to be free of Sith machinations for just a moment or two.

Lord Nirun stood several feet in front of Grenarian, a smug look on his face as he leaned on a hip and crossed his arms. “You’re hardly a swordsman, Grenarian. To think of the look on my face when I discovered you took my resources which I loaned to you for training apprentices and went on a little excavation trip? I was flabberghasted! You owe me a debt.. and making it worse for yourself would not be wise, considering my connections.”

“This is my ancestral resting grounds. You will not best me here and you will not take it from me, you filthy mongrel!” Grenarian spat.

“I think this tomb and it’s bounty would be an excellent down payment for all you owe me.. or shall I air all of your little secrets to the Dark Council? Perhaps that bit about.. hm.. the Republic agent on Sullust? I doubt anyone would believe a downtrodden idiot such as yourself over me.” He put his arms out to his side, cape falling off his shoulders. “Unless you would rather deal with this like proper Sith.”

Grenarian lowered his saber, pacing back and forth as he tapped his fingers together. Their jewelry clanged loudly, echoing throughout the chamber as Caren'mati looked on silently. Eventually Grenarian raised his saber and pointed it at Nirun.

“This is MY chance! This is MY heritage! My BLOODRIGHT! You will not have an ounce, nor a pebble!” His hand shook, unsure and bristling to the brim with rage.

Nirun held his palm out, saber flying to it. He ignited it and drew it into a high guard, his stubbly mouth peeling back into a satisfied smile. “I knew you couldn’t give it up, Grenarian. Once you’re dead I’ll parade your little mouse around so that they all know how vicious I am. How easily I bested you.”

Caren'mati reached for her lightsaber, pulling it from it’s sheathe and holding it out to the side without igniting it. She looked to her master and the man offered her a firm look, shaking his head.

Sabers crossed, hissing, popping and illuminating the dusty chamber with a bright splash of red-on-red. Grenarian pressed hard into Nirun’s guard, the shine of the Sith’s teeth visible even from where Caren'mati was standing. Nirun was forced to hold his saber with both hands, the larger and older Sith Pureblood bringing a level of brute force that no one would think of a fat old man.

A blast of air pressed into Grenarian’s gut and sent the man flying, his robes flapping around like an old trash bag as he chortled, back arching painfully on an ancient tomb decoration before it snapped and sent Grenarian onto the floor. He twirled back to his feet, saber held out in one hand as he looked for Nirun.

In the side of Grenarian’s vision was a flash which forced the Pureblood to bend his back, the heat of the blade causing the Sith’s skin to darken and melt along his cheek in the near-miss. Grenarian jammed his boot into Nirun’s side, his hand shooting out to arc lightning into the human’s chest as he flew backwards from the force.

Nirun barreled back into a collection of treasures, falling past them and landing square on his rear end. Grenarian likewise flew into goodies, the man forcing himself to a stand. He begun to laugh, arcing lightning out at Nirun which the human had to forcibly deflect into his lightsaber. It crackled and snapped, threatening to overload the power supply.

With a forceful jut of his hand, Grenarian overcame Nirun’s guard and sent the human’s saber flying off to the side. Even if it was only a split-second disarmament, the Pureblood was able to force both arms forward and began to electrocute Nirun with all of his might.

“You are no longer better than me, you filthy upstart! You will beg ME for loans of forces and troops! I will force you to live in squalor over your secrets!” He laughed and laughed, Nirun spasming on the floor and smoking.

Nirun snapped his mouth shut suddenly, a yowl of pain and blood flying out as a bit of his tongue flopped to the ground before him. It seemed enough to focus him, as his hand pawed for his lightsaber while Grenarian was distracted with mocking him.

The blade rolled for Nirun’s hand and ignited, the human drawing the blade up to cut off both of Grenarian’s legs. Flailing his arms, the current of electricity halted and his body from the ankles up fell back onto the floor. Grenarian screamed in pain, screeching at the top of his lungs until Nirun cut off his head only moments later. The elder Sith Pureblood’s head rolled harmlessly out of it’s cloth hat, beady yellow eyes staring at the far wall lifelessly.

Charred, scarred and half-dead, Nirun heaved raspy breathes. He spat a wad of blood on his opponent’s corpse and struggled to push himself to a stand. “Drama queen,” he heaved, stumbling away from the scene.

Nirun looked up at Caren'mati, holding his hand out. “You are my apprentice now. Get me medical attention and I will give you a life of luxury you had only thought possible in dreams.”

“Why?” Caren'mati asked.

Nirun scowled, his gaunt face craggy and disfigured form his altercation with Grenarian. “Because I am the claimant of this tomb now. I defeated him in honorable combat and thus I shall reap the rewards. You are now my apprentice - do you not know how Sith work?”

She nodded. “I could simply kill you and take both of your places.”

With a guffaw, the man waved his hand back and forth. “You lack the ability to so much as breathe on me, I am capable of killing you a thousand times over and besides.. you are my prize. Now help me upstairs and find me a bloody kolto tank before I snap your neck.”

Caren'mati looked past to the decapitated head of Lord Grenarian, then back to Nirun’s disfigured face. Her eyes cast downwards at her hand which still held her lightsaber. “I am not your prize.”

“Why are you still talking? Help me up there or I will order the entire contingent of soldiers up there to ravage you before I cut you limb from limb, you idiotic animal. Leave it to a slave race to be stubborn without a ground for it.”

The lightsaber in her hand ignited, the blade kept at waist level as she stared at Nirun with hate in her eyes. The Sith man stared back, confident, and ignited his own saber.

“Daft little tart. I have one, too. This is a horrible start for a relationship - maybe that weak old sexual deviant enjoyed your nature but I assure you that I will break you to the point where you will rue this moment for the rest of your pitifully short li-..”

Caren'mati drew her arm back and thrust it forward quickly, the stench of burning flesh filling her nostrils as she nestled the blade into Nirun’s neck. His lightsaber fell harmlessly from his hand and with the flick of a wrist she decapitated the human instantly.

Her brows furrowed and her mouth opened in horror at what she did, the twi'lek immediately disengaging her lightsaber and staring at the new corpse before her. Fear, guilt, pain, and helplessness coursed through her in an instant and she buckled over and puked all over Nirun’s body, her shaky footfalls not enough to distance her from the smoking body.

After several minutes of hyperventilating and panicking she looked up, eyes wet and face puffy. Grenarian and Nirun were both dead… and the tomb with unaccountable riches for all intent and purposes was officially ownerless. She looked to Grenarian, remembering the abuse she endured since she was too young to comprehend what he was doing to her, too naive and too afraid to escape when she could or stand up when he was asleep.

Then to Nirun. A man who would become just the same, if not worse, because he was savvy with those on Dromund Kaas. She approached one of the sarcophagi, opened them and dragged both bodies to it. It seemed to have enough room for them in their current states so she painstakingly loaded them both into the large tomb and closed it up, searing the edges with her lightsaber to weld it closed.

With a deep, shaky breath she turned around and surveyed the remains of what was there. Mountains of wealth and knowledge which the Sith Empire would kill to attain for training purposes, for archaeological purposes.. 

Mountains which were now hers.

She pulled out a commlink and lifted it to her face.

“Sergeant Gorche, send down an Imperial Reclaimation Service appraisal team,” she paused. “This tomb needs it’s worth documented and on file so that we can inform the academy of it’s price and take personal effects back to the estate on Dromund Kaas.”

She paused, a sinking feeling in her chest almost forcing what was left of her lunch to lurch out. A deep breath stifled it.

“I’m in charge now, Sergeant. Let’s get to work.”


End file.
